


Ghost Tango

by filistinist, Jell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Humor, M/M, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 17:06:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6667123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/filistinist/pseuds/filistinist, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jell/pseuds/Jell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strange ghosts start visiting Malfoy Manor. Or are they ghost at all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost Tango

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Призрачное танго](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/192955) by Jell. 



The Dark Lord and Severus Snape were in his drawing room, dancing the tango to music he could not hear. Severus was gently cradling the Dark Lord's waist, sometimes pulling him closer, sometimes supporting him as he bent back, sometimes leaning into his noseless face, as if he meant to kiss him. The Dark Lord arched his back, threw a leg over Severus's waist, ran a long-fingered hand over his chest, almost touching the horrible wound in his neck. Which was still oozing blood. Their dance was becoming edgy, aggressive, full of hatred and suppressed lust. It was the dance of two cobras, who yearned to either consume each other or to fuse together in ecstasy.

Lucius just stood there, leaning against the door, and watched as Severus dipped the Dark Lord over an arm, as he in turn arched so far that his bald head almost touched the floor. Their movements were graceful and precise, like those of professional dancers, but the outward appearance of the pair was more likely to induce a shudder than inspire any admiration for the beauty of the dance.

If he wanted to, he could clearly make out a hint of whitish sinews in the gaping wound in Severus's neck. Lucius definitely did not want to, and yet his eyes kept straying to that purple gash. Unlike Severus, the Dark Lord had not changed at all. He was just as thin as before, practically fleshless, and he wore the same unassuming gray robe. It fluttered up with each sharp movement, exposing bare feet and ankles so pale they were almost blue.

It might take some getting used to, but, upon reflection, the pair looked almost... pretty. So much alike, and yet so different, both equally absorbed in the dance and in each other.

“Great, aren't they?”

Lucius started and turned his head. It was Sirius Black, sitting on the mantel shelf above the fireplace between a statuette and his father's hookah, swinging his foot casually. He was wearing his Azkaban rags and a sign with his prison number.

“I think they suit each other perfectly,” he added.

Black struck a match off the chimney, lit a cigarette, took a long drag, exhaled invisible smoke, and continued:

“Well, how about it? They both have vile personalities, they both love the Dark Arts, one's nose is too long, but the other has no nose at all. A perfect pair. What do you think?”

Lucius said nothing. He hadn't decided yet if these were ghosts or hallucinations. But in either case, he had no intention of speaking to them. He had nothing to say to any of them—neither to Severus, nor the Dark Lord, nor Black. He should just turn around and leave, close the door quietly, and forget everything he saw here. Maybe even have a nice stiff drink—just that morning, he'd found an unopened bottle of Firewhiskey in his study. The house elves were clearly trying to turn him into a drunkard.

As if in answer to his thoughts, Black waved a hand and exclaimed:

“Dobby! A bottle of Firewhiskey!”

Dobby appeared noiselessly, gave Lucius a dirty look, handed Black a bottle, and stood motionless in front of the fireplace. A knife protruded from his skinny chest. Bellatrix always knew how to wield cold steel just as well as a wand.

Black took a gulp straight from the bottle, winced, and looked up at Lucius.

“I bet you're asking yourself what we're all doing here, right?”

Lucius didn't answer.

“Of course you are. Well, with me it's quite simple—I was pissed off. Thirteen years in solitary confinement, practically bosom buddies with Dementors, then I copped it for nothing, and you—you're still here. Alive, healthy, free... you sod. So as soon as I saw a loophole, I decided to drop in. And Dobby here tagged along. And house elves, they never truly leave the house, you know. Doesn't matter if you kick them out—they're still drawn there.”

“And these?” Lucius nodded at Severus and the Dark Lord, and immediately regretted it. The couple stopped and stared at him.

“These... they have business with you.” Black laughed.

Both Severus and the Dark Lord had a surprisingly lively and intent look in their eyes. That never happened with ghosts. Lucius shuddered. He took a step back, slipped out the door, and locked it behind him, just in case. After all, he could certainly do without the large drawing room. There was always the small one.

~-~-~

Lucius entered his bedroom and froze. Severus and the Dark Lord were sitting cross-legged on his bed, playing cards. Strip poker, judging by the fact that the Dark Lord was left in nothing but a thin shift, and a rumpled gray robe was lying behind Severus. Lucius blinked, but the apparition did not disappear. The Dark Lord was frowning as he examined his cards, and licked his non-existent lips nervously. Severus was smirking.

There were times when Lucius had seen these two play, on more than one occasion. Except chess, not cards, and no stripping was involved, of course. And he could've never even imagined _this_. And especially not that Severus would be winning! Well, at least he could get his own back in the afterlife...

Black cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. He was sitting on the windowsill, smoking out of the open window. Lucius could almost smell the scent of those cigarettes. So familiar, tart, irritating. Unbearable!

“Drop the cigarette,” Lucius said, without thinking.

The pair on the bed glanced at him and returned to their game. Black shook ashes off onto the pristine white windowsill.

“You know, you can't smoke in Azkaban. So don't turn your lovely home into Azkaban, Malfoy.”

“Don't you dare compare the two!”

“Of course not.” Black spat. “Smoking is not the issue. The point is that in Azkaban, your whole life turns into nothing, into ashes and dust, into cobweb-covered rubbish. All your aspirations, hopes. All your love, if you ever had any.” He paused. “And only one thing makes sense. It grinds away, eats away at you, dominates over everything—the knowledge of why and for what you ended up there. Every moment you remember that, and only that.” Black glanced at him, and Lucius looked away. “So don't turn your house into Azkaban. You'll go mental.”

Hallucination or not, Black was reminding him of things that Lucius wanted neither to remember nor even think about. Meanwhile, back on the bed, Severus had almost tugged off the Dark Lord's shirt. And this was definitely not a sight Lucius ever wanted to see.

“I won't disturb you, gentlemen,” he mumbled as he left and closed the door firmly behind him. After all, he could do without his bedroom as well. There were plenty of empty guest bedrooms in the house.

~-~-~

These guests frightened him. Not with their appearance, or even their behavior, but with the fact that they existed at all. Ever since he'd first ended up in Azkaban and got an earful of the screams of the madmen there, he lived in constant fear of going insane. And these occurrences resembled insanity more than anything. Should he see a specialist? But what kind? Depending on what his uninvited guests were, he needed to treat either his head, or his house. And since he knew that healers could do almost nothing for mental illnesses, Lucius did not want to turn to St. Mungo's. He was becoming more and more inclined to the opinion that it was hallucinations he was seeing, but he got his final confirmation when Draco stopped by.

After the victory his relationship with his son had become somewhat cold. No, Draco never blamed him for anything, but Lucius always fancied he could sense unspoken accusations in his eyes and voice. He didn't know how to answer them, and wouldn't do it, even if he had known. He never did apologize, either to Draco or to Narcissa. And this guilt hung between them, turning communication into torment.

He hadn't even protested much when Draco announced that he wanted to live somewhere else for a while, and moved out. It turned out that he and one of the Weasleys were renting a flat in Muggle London. Lucius didn't know the right words to dissuade him of this, so he simply chose not to notice it. He'll get it out of his system and come around, he decided.

Possibly due to the absence of reproaches, but most likely because his financial situation wasn't the best, Draco did show up at home occasionally. Not as often as Lucius would have liked, but much more often than he expected.

They had settled down in the small drawing room to discuss business, when the phantoms appeared, silently, as usual. Severus made himself comfortable in an armchair in the far corner. The Dark Lord perched next to him on an armrest and began to braid his hair. The sight was so ridiculous that Lucius must have kept his eyes on them for too long. Draco, who was sitting with his back to them, turned around to look.

“What is it, Father?”

“You...” He understood that Draco wasn't seeing anything out of the ordinary, and decided not to draw attention to it. “No, it's nothing. Sorry, I got distracted.”

Apparently he really was losing his mind. In which case, the only thing left to do was to keep up appearances, and try not to pay attention to the tiresome hallucinations. While he was still capable of separating fact from fantasy.

Lucius tried to concentrate on the conversation, to forget about the non-existent Severus and Dark Lord, but then Black appeared right next to Draco. He had a bottle of Firewhiskey in his hand again, and had Dobby clinging to his leg.

“Well, look at that, he can't see anything,” Black smirked. “That means you have some funny hallucinations in your head, Malfoy. The Dark Lord and Snape. If I were you, I wouldn't even worry so much about _why_ you're seeing them, as why you're seeing them _like that_.”

That actually was an interesting question, and Lucius once again lost track of Draco's words. Also, he couldn't look away from the sight of Black and Dobby polishing off a whole bottle of Firewhiskey between the two of them.

“You are too distracted today. What's going on with you?”

“No, I just didn't get enough sleep, don't pay any attention, Draco. I'm perfectly fine. Are you sure that you want to live in London? If you came back...”

“Then you and I would get into a row within a half hour.” Draco smiled and saluted him with his glass.

Lucius had to admit, to his regret, that his son was absolutely right.

~-~-~

The next day they appeared bright and early in the morning, at breakfast. The Dark Lord settled in the chair which was usually Draco's, and Severus sat in his lap. For the first time Lucius saw how they materialized. It was as if the air thickened slightly, making him want to blink to clear his vision. And as soon as he did, the apparitions were right there.

“Don't blink!” Sirius's voice whispered in his ear, and a moment later, the man himself appeared. He sat down on Lucius's right, toasted him with his empty glass, and set it down on the table.

“What's happening, Black?”

The sight of the Dark Lord and Severus was having an unfortunate effect on his appetite. Lucius pushed away his teacup and arranged his silverware on a plate. He had barely touched his meal. Just the sight of the bleeding wound in Severus's neck was enough to put him off his food.

“Nothing in particular, Malfoy. Well... consider it a prank. A stupid joke. Ha-ha. A couple of corpses come to visit you. But we're not disturbing anything, are we, not making noise or spoiling your things? All I do is talk, and these two beauties, they don't even do that much.”

While Black was talking, Lucius continued to stare at the Dark Lord. He appeared to be perfectly content in death. And he actually looked healthier than he had while he was alive. But now something in Black's little speech bothered Lucius.

“Wait... they don't talk? Actually, why is it that you talk and they don't?”

Black smirked.

“It's a secret, Malfoy.”

“But don't you want to tell me?”

“Dream on!”

“You probably don't know yourself, do you.”

“Your Slytherin tricks wouldn't even fool a baby, Malfoy. Do your own thinking!” Black smirked one last time, and vanished.

Severus and the Dark Lord stayed. They stared at Lucius silently and petted each others backs. It was a rather creepy sight.

Lucius rose slowly, stepped away from the table, and made his way to the door, but it slammed shut right in his face. When he turned around, the Dark Lord and Severus were still watching him, except now they were smiling, and those smiles were truly ghoulish.

Lucius had almost got used to his spectral guests, and was almost resigned to the fact that they would sometimes occupy certain rooms, but they had never before manifested themselves physically.

“Probably a draft,” Lucius mumbled, and pulled on the door handle. The door didn't budge.

“Bloody hell!” Lucius whipped out his wand. “Alohomora!”

The door opened wide immediately. Lucius sprang out into the hallway, and sealed the door shut. He supposed he would have to do without the dining hall for the time being. That's not so bad, is it?

~-~-~

Lucius slept very poorly now, even though he had chosen one of the best guest rooms. He often jolted out of sleep, and spent a long time watching the shadows cast by the trees outside. He kept waiting for the apparitions to show up in his bed.

A couple of weeks after their first appearance, he woke up from a nightmare and saw Black on his bed. He was sitting near Lucius's feet, on the very edge of the mattress, with his arms around his knees. As if feeling his gaze, Black turned around.

“Why'd you wake up? Go back to sleep.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Let's just say I'm sleeping too.”

“Sitting up?”

“And why not? It's all the same to me.” Black shrugged and turned around.

“And where are... those?”

“Those? 'Those' don't like the night. 'It's too dark' they say.” Black laughed.

“But you do like it?”

“My name is Black, after all.”

He laughed again, and then disappeared.

Lucius couldn't sleep a wink until morning, and only when bright sunlight flooded the room, he lowered the thick drapes, locked the door, and was able to forget himself in sleep for a short while.

Black came the next night as well. Lucius hadn't been able to fall asleep yet—he'd been tossing and turning for more than an hour, but couldn't get rid of his troubling thoughts. Black materialized silently, stood by the bed for a while, and then lowered himself onto the very edge once again. This time he was the one to start the conversation.

“You know what the problem is, Malfoy?” He paused, as if hoping that Lucius might say something. Seeing that this hope was in vain, he continued: “The problem is that I used to like you.”

Lucius made a noise of derision. He liked him, sure. Even when he was a child, Black managed to aggravate him. He would ruin his clothing, put disgusting things in his food, tried to drive a wedge between him and Narcissa, as well as her other relatives... and other things, too many to even count!

“No, really, I liked you. You were so different from anyone I've ever known. I especially liked your hair. I remember, I even wanted to add it to my collection. Too bad that didn't work out.”

Lucius remembered, too—how frightened he was when the completely psychotic Sirius Black sneaked up to him in the middle of the night with a pair of scissors. Since that day Lucius never stayed overnight at the Black house, even after Sirius ran away from home.

“Why this sudden trip down memory lane?”

“I am a ghost, aren't I, all I have now is memories—I have no life.”

“You're much too solid for a ghost,” Lucius noted, surprising himself with his own observation.

Because Black really did look abnormally corporeal. A ghost could never be confused for a living person, even at a distance, but Black, the Dark Lord, and Severus—they really could be. Lucius rose and stretched his hand out to touch Black, but the other recoiled and dissolved in the darkness.

He didn't appear the night after that.

~-~-~

“Father, you don't look too well. Are you sick?” Draco was looking at him with sympathy, but somehow Lucius felt that his concern was fake.

“Draco, everything is fine. Let's not talk about it.”

“But I still don't like it that you're here alone in this cursed house.”

“This 'cursed' house has been a home to our family for a thousand years, and I hope it will remain so for a thousand more. I thought I've instilled some respect for your ancestors in you, but apparently...” Lucius decided not to pursue this topic any further. He didn't want to argue.

Draco snorted and turned away towards the window to set his unfinished wine glass on the sill.

“Only a short time ago I considered this my home. But now it seems more fit to be a home for ghosts,” he said quietly.

“There are no ghosts in Malfoy Manor, Draco.”

“Are you sure?”

“There hasn't been a single mention of one for almost a thousand years. It's said that Armand put a spell on these grounds.”

“A spell can dissipate with time.”

Lucius thought so himself, but decided not to mention it. He found the topic of ghosts decidedly unpleasant.

They talked some more about business matters, and then _they_ appeared suddenly—first the Dark Lord, then Sirius. The Dark Lord stepped away towards the fireplace and began to examine the porcelain figurines on the mantel shelf, caressing each one delicately with his fingers. Sirius came up to Draco and shook his head. Draco shivered, as if he felt a cold wind, rolled his shoulders, and stepped away from the window.

The silence began to stretch. Draco poured Lucius more wine, then refilled his own glass.

Severus appeared. Lucius tracked him with his eyes as he sneaked by, almost right under Draco's nose, slipped behind the Dark Lord's back, and covered his eyes with his hands. The other started and whirled around. Lucius looked away—watching the love games of these two was getting more and more unbearable. Draco was observing him carefully, puzzled. Finally he shook his head and said:

“Maybe you should see someone in St. Mungo's?”

“Why? I feel perfectly fine. And if you came back home, I'd feel even better.”

“No. That's not up for discussion, you're better off trying to get Mother to come back.”

Lucius lowered his gaze. He was not sure that he wanted Narcissa to return. As time passed, his infatuation with a pretty young girl turned into respectful love for the mother of his only child, then into mere respect for a faithful friend, until eventually all his feelings just melted away altogether, leaving nothing but a vague melancholy.

When Narcissa moved out, he even felt relief. He really did want to be left alone. And everything suited him just fine, until now. Lucius was willing to put up with ghosts, but with living people—not so much. He was only inviting his son to stay because he knew for a fact that the other would not accept.

“Father, I'm going. Do consider my advice, and consult a healer.”

Lucius waved him away. Tell a complete stranger about his visions? He wasn't _that_ far gone.

~-~-~

Sometimes Lucius would muse about the nature of his visions. At first glance, only a complete madman would imagine Voldemort and Snape as a carefree loving couple, but if one considered them more carefully...

Lucius always thought that if Voldemort had felt anything akin to liking, it must have been toward Snape. The Dark Lord admired him, cited him as an example, forgave his mistakes, and spoke with him more often than with anyone else. In that last year, while Lucius himself was feeling like a servant in his own home, Severus and the Lord would spend long hours sitting in the study. They would talk and play long games of chess. It seemed that chess wasn't even the point—they just wanted to sit together, and it wasn't even necessary for them to speak. Sometimes Lucius had felt offended or jealous: he had been the Dark Lord's companion for much longer than Snape, but never reached this level of closeness and trust. The Malfoys had fought against muggle lovers for centuries, and yet the Dark Lord preferred a half-blood as a confidant. Snape may have been intelligent and magically gifted, but he was still a half-blood.

All this suggested that the rumors about the Dark Lord's lack of blood purity, and the implied hypocrisy of his politics, were true.

The Dark Lord had definitely liked Severus, and this made it even more strange to hear from Potter that Severus had betrayed his master, as well as his cause, a long time ago. And that the Lord himself killed his faithful ally, without ever finding out about his treachery...

Could the memory of their relationship twist itself into a vision of such a colorful romantic couple? But why not?

For the most part, they payed no attention to Lucius, which suited him just fine, but sometimes it was as if they woke up. They would notice him, watch him, and in those moments strange things would happen: wineglasses shattered, books fell off shelves and paintings—off walls, windows would open or close. When this happened, Lucius would run away, lock the door to that room, and then keep away from it for a long time. Even though he understood that it was a useless precaution. The Dark Lord and Severus were not tied to any particular room.

Nor was Sirius Black. Sometimes he showed up alone, sometimes Dobby would come with him. The latter never spoke to Lucius and even seemed to be desperately pretending that the man did not exist. The house-elf served only Black, and even then, did not appear to be too happy about it. Even in death, he seemed to hate the role of a servant.

And Dobby was a puzzle in and of himself. Lucius had never bothered to inquire what happened to that damned house-elf after he got Potter and his lot out of Malfoy Manor. He blissfully missed that moment, lying unconscious with his head in a fireplace. So there was no way he could have known that Dobby was dead, much less that he'd been killed by Bellatrix's knife. Although... he could have heard it at some point, and not paid any attention. It could have stuck in his memory and then suddenly manifested itself in this strange way.

Black was different from all of them. It wasn't just that he was the only one who spoke to Lucius or appeared at night. It was that he didn't even seem at all otherworldly. Just an old friend or rival, who just stopped by for a quick visit, to chat for a bit. There was never any threat emanating from Black, and if he stayed away for even a couple of days, Lucius missed him.

~-~-~

With every passing day, the lovely couple became more and more insolent, and Black became more and more gloomy. He no longer laughed, only sneered unpleasantly, and his jokes had become practically funereal.

“I wonder, when you bite it, will you pass on, like all your ancestors, or will you get stuck here, like me?”

“ _Are_ you stuck here?”

Lucius was carefully not watching as Severus tried to arrange a wreath of bright yellow flowers on the Dark Lord's head. He didn't want to think about where the flowers came from, and why they resembled so much the ultra-expensive orchids from Narcissa's greenhouse. He hadn't stepped foot in it for the past couple of years.

“Something like that. Until these two shove off somewhere, I have to sit here too. Although I can't imagine how I'm connected to them.”

“You're different from them,” Lucius said. An idea dawned in his mind, not for the first time.

“We have nothing at all in common! I'm real, and they're...”

“And they are?”

“Figure it out yourself,” huffed Black.

“But you almost said everything already.”

“Then you must have figured it all out.”

Lucius doubted it. He was leaning toward the hallucination idea, but that didn't explain the difference between Black and the rest. But if he bluffed well enough, he might wheedle the answer to the riddle out of Black.

“I don't understand, why are covering for them?”

“You don't understand? Oh, right... you've never died before, have you. I'm not supposed to interfere in the business of the living. And all this,” he stabbed a finger at Severus and the Dark Lord, “is living business.”

“Living... they're alive?”

Black grunted, but didn't answer. A silence hung between them, interrupted only by the rustling noises coming from the sweet couple. Out of the three of them, it was Black who seemed to be alive, and not these hallucinations. Maybe that was the whole point. Maybe Black was a ghost, and the strange pair—a manifestation of some hereditary insanity, although Lucius could not recall hearing about anything like it. Snape and the Lord were the products of his mind, his living mind.

“Are you upset because I'm going insane?” asked Lucius.

“In my day, I could only dream about a head as clear as yours,” said Black, and disappeared.

Lucius left the almost naked pair to their snogging, and walked out of the drawing room. Maybe in time he'll get used to them, even stop noticing them.

~-~-~

The Aurors showed up suddenly and inopportunely, as usual. The Lord and Snape had started up a very active game of tag, and Lucius had a headache since that morning from the noise. The only place he could escape them was in the rain-soaked garden, in a gazebo exposed on all sides to the winds. He had brought the usual bottle of Firewhiskey with him.

Lucius had stopped wondering where it came from, and why—the house-elves must have been bringing it in. For some reason he took two glasses with him. He poured whiskey first into one, then thought about it, and filled the other as well. Was he hoping for a good companion?

He didn't have to wait long. Black lifted his glass, sniffed the contents and set it aside.

“You drink too much, Malfoy.”

“I must have forgotten to ask your opinion.”

He was feeling especially bitter and vile that day. It may have had something to do with the fact that he'd opened a door to one of the rooms where the Lord and Severus have thoroughly amused themselves. Lucius remembered clearly how they broke a whole cabinet full of china, but today it was whole. His illness seemed to be progressing.

Black disappeared a split second before the first Auror Apparated onto the patio in front of the house. Two more followed him. One of them, probably the leader, resolutely headed for the house. The others looked around, and one of them—the skinniest and probably the youngest—noticed Lucius in the gazebo. This Auror was a redhead. After a few moments Lucius recognized him as one of the Weasleys. Although he could not make out which one. He knew Arthur and Molly, but he didn't consider it necessary to memorize the names of the others. There were too many of them.

An old, white-haired Auror with a wide manly chin stepped forward. Lucius never could stand his type.

“Mr. Malfoy...” he began.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Lucius didn't even bother getting up. “Would you like to join me?” He gestured at the Firewhiskey bottle. It was still about half full.

“No. Are you expecting someone?” The Auror was looking at the second glass.

“No one, other than you.”

Weasley and the other Auror, who was perhaps a bit older than him, exchanged a glance. They must have been assuming that the search would be unexpected. Well, that's good, let them rack their brains, let them run around looking for a rat in their midst. He was surprised that the Auror hadn't yet introduced himself and his colleagues. Lucius couldn't have remembered their names even if he'd wanted to. He may have seen the one with the chin somewhere before. But when? Where? Maybe his memory was starting to go as well. How extremely unpleasant.

“We have received information that you may be holding certain artifacts...”

Lucius glanced at Weasley, who seemed to be trying to burn a whole in him with his fiery gaze. He suddenly wondered if this was the same Weasley who was living with Draco. He was about the right age. How could his son lower himself to this extent? A Weasley was bad enough, but an Auror? Lucius could never have anything good to say about this choice. And he wouldn't put it past the redhead to plant something illegal, out of spite. At least the worst that he could get for it was yet another house arrest. He had already condemned himself to that without their help—he hadn't left Malfoy Manor in many months.

“Let's go inside, then.”

Lucius rose and led his uninvited guests toward the house. Almost instantly his hair became saturated with rainwater, cold droplets landed under his collar, and his light shoes were soaked through. But one of the Aurors took pity on him—he waved a wand to dry him and protect him from the rain.

“Thank you,” said Lucius.

“It's nothing,” grumbled Weasley.

He hadn't expected such consideration from the boy.

The hall was empty, with no traces of that morning's rampage. Lucius had a very clear memory of the chandelier losing its pendants as it swung back and forth, of an old vase cracking and scattering its dried flowers. The bouquet in it had not been refreshed since Narcissa left. Almost half a year it was, now.

“Maybe you can just hand over the forbidden artifact, and we can go?” inquired the older Auror, who still hadn't introduced himself. Not that Lucius was interested in his name.

“Unfortunately I haven't the slightest idea what you could mean. There is nothing left here which might interest you. Everything was seized, confiscated, wreck...” Lucius caught Weasley's glance and pretended to have a coughing fit. “So anyway, you should talk to you colleagues.”

“And your son hasn't brought anything in?”

“No.” More like his son was carrying things out. Last time Lucius gave him the emerald set that had belonged to great-grandmother Thais. Not that he had no money, but he didn't want to take it out of circulation, especially not for the sake of one of Draco's whims.

“Fine. If we can't do this the easy way...” The Auror took a Sneakoscope out of his pocket. He frowned, tapped it a few times, and put it away again.

“So... what would you like me to show you?” Lucius inquired.

“The basement. We'll start with the basement. Don't you have a wine cellar somewhere in there?”

“The Auror gentlemen are suffering from thirst?”

The Aurors did not react to the quip, only Weasley scowled and shot him a mulish look.

Lucius showed them down the stairs, like a gracious host. He hadn't been down there himself since the last search, if not longer. It might have been Narcissa who led the Aurors on a tour last time.

When they got downstairs, the Aurors split up. Weasley marched off to inspect the dungeons: he must have wanted to remind himself of his former heroics. The second Auror, the quiet one—he communicated through nods, even with his boss—went into the old catacombs. Lucius only hoped that he would not get lost in there. Otherwise there was nothing there except some rats and an old crypt. The older one came with him to the wine cellar.

Lucius remembered vaguely that large oak barrels had stood here once, and the cabinets had been filled with countless bottles of wine, mead, Firewhiskey, champagne. But now...

“It's empty,” the Auror said, looking around at the dust-covered cabinets.

He lit a few lamps on the wall, to take a better look. Not that there was anything to look at.

“Stolen?” Lucius said quietly, more for his own benefit than the Auror's.

“Someone stole all your liquor?”

The Auror raised an eyebrow slightly. He didn't seem too inclined to believe this. Nor was Lucius. Of course there had been some expensive collectible brands here, and his stock would have diminished significantly while the Dark Lord lived here and his “dear compatriots” were frequent guests. But surely not to this extent!

“Unfortunately, I'm not sure what and how much was here to begin with.” Suddenly he thought of Draco... “Forget it. Maybe my wife took it all away after the divorce.”

“To get back at you,” nodded the Auror.

_Or to protect me_ , thought Lucius.

The others hadn't found anything in the basement, either, and they didn't even get lost. Lucius was starting to get bored, when for a split second Sirius appeared next to the Aurors. He shook his head and disappeared again.

“Well, gentlemen, where to next?”

The gentlemen Aurors decided to examine the ground floor. Weasley headed towards the pantries and the kitchen. Lucius hoped that his stores would not become too depleted on his account. The older one kept taking out his Sneakoscope, and occasionally cast charms to disperse illusions or assist in searching, but judging from his scowl, he wasn't finding anything interesting.

The small dining room was locked, which the lead Auror found very surprising, although Lucius unlocked it immediately upon request.

“Strange, why are you locking the doors inside the house? Are you hiding someone?”

“Not at all... only... There are drafts. The hinges on the doors are not that sturdy—they slam, especially at night. It's annoying.”

The Auror did not seem to believe him one bit. He searched the room very thoroughly and took away the two wineglasses which had been left standing on the table. For expert analysis. His Sneakoscope kept twitching slightly, as if picking up on Lucius's growing irritation. He was deadly tired of these Aurors. Especially Weasley. On the first floor they sent him to examine the bedrooms.

Lucius was sorry that he could not duplicate, or better yet, triplicate himself, to keep an eye on each Auror. But it was all right. There was nothing to steal here anyhow. And if Weasley were to make away with the portrait of some quarrelsome great-grandmother, Lucius might even thank him. To himself. After he raised a stink over it.

By the time they got to the attic, the Aurors were tired and disappointed. They took a cursory look at the empty space, for form's sake, and hurried downstairs.

“Sorry to disturb you,” said the lead Auror as they took their leave.

“Oh, it's nothing. Stop by any time, and bring your colleagues, and relatives.” Lucius's eyes were drawn to Weasley. He was looking especially insolent.

“Thanks for the invitation,” said the quiet one in a low baritone.

When the Aurors Disapparated, Lucius sighed with relief. He turned to go up to the library, and froze. Severus and the Lord stood on the staircase, embracing. They stared right at Lucius with predatory smiles. The front door slammed shut with a crash, and he heard an invisible key turning twice to lock it.

~-~-~

This wasn't fear, it was honest-to-goodness animal terror. Lucius couldn't move, he could only watch as the Lord and Severus slowly and inexorably descended towards him, hand in hand. Droplets of sweat crawled down his back, his hands shook. Lucius clutched at the thick door and clawed at it with his nails.

The hallucinations came closer and closer. With a wave of the hand the Dark Lord swept away the long-suffering vase. Severus made the chandelier crash down to the floor. Flying shards reached all the way to where Lucius was standing, and one of them scratched his cheek. He yanked at the door a few times, but it would not open. His wand!

Lucius whipped it out and desperately tried to remember even a single spell against ghosts. His head was as empty as Arthur Weasley's wallet. He swallowed and slumped against the door. Oh! He could unlock it!

“Alohomora!”

The door stayed locked. His palms were getting slippery from cold sweat. The Dark Lord was very close now, his red eyes glittering. He raised his wand. Lucius could almost see the green glow of an Avada light its tip. Could a hallucination kill him? He didn't want to test this on himself.

“Why are you just standing there? Run!” Sirius stood in a side passage, beckoning him.

So Lucius ran. He may have even passed right through Severus, who stepped into his path at the wrong time. Sirius didn't wait for him, but ran ahead down the corridor leading to the kitchen.

The kitchen was located in an outbuilding with its own entrance, and was connected to the main building by a short corridor. Black stopped there, a few feet short of the kitchen.

“Go on. Hide in the kitchen until it passes.”

“Until what passes?” Lucius stopped.

“The fit, what else.”

Even his own mind, whose rational part has apparently taken on Black's form, thought he was insane. How could he argue with himself? Lucius looked over his shoulder. The Dark Lord and Severus were drawing near. They were moving more quickly now, almost flying. The Lord's bare soles flickered a few inches above the ground. The light seemed to dim behind the ghostly figures. This situation resembled an ordinary nightmare more and more, but Lucius could not wake up.

Severus's eyes were now just as red as the Dark Lord's. His horrible wound looked like another mouth, open in a horrendous leer. The apparitions held hands and smiled.

“Run already!” Black shouted.

Lucius flew into the kitchen, frightening the two ancient house-elves there, locked the door behind him, and ran to the exit. It turned out to be locked as well, but opened to an Alohomora. Lucius glanced behind him. He thought he saw a transparent hand reach through the closed door and wave a wand, but he sprang away from the house and ran a few steps further. He couldn't care less what the bloody house-elves thought of him. Ever since that sodding Dobby ran off, he tried to deal with them as little as possible. He told them that he never wanted to set eyes on them again. And now he had... They must be punishing themselves now. Well, to hell with them! Maybe it was the house-elves who arranged all this? Lucius shook his head—he couldn't really believe that.

From the outside, the house looked peaceful and quiet. Lucius went back to the gazebo and grabbed the bottle that had been standing there since morning. There was just enough in it to calm his nerves.

“Don't drink it.” A half-transparent Black appeared next to him.

“You know, after something like that...”

“I know. But if you don't drink, they'll go away quicker.”

“Are you suggesting that I have delirium tremens? From half a bottle of dry wine?!” Lucius even managed to laugh. Though somewhat nervously, to be honest.

“Fine, do whatever you want!” Black waved a hand dismissively and evaporated.

Lucius poured the rest of the wine out onto the damp ground and sat down on the bench to wait for darkness. No one ever appeared to him when it was dark, except Black, and he wasn't the least bit scared of Black. The scratch on his cheek smarted.

~-~-~

The night didn't bring him any peace. Lucius approached the house when darkness had fallen completely. All the windows were dark, but there was light in the dining room. The house-elves must have served dinner.

The door gave easily. Lucius pushed it open and stood frozen on the threshold, peering into the uncomfortable darkness. No one and nothing. The vase was in place, as was the chandelier.

Lucius cast a Lumos, and examined first the hall, then the door. He could easily make out the light scratches he had made with his nails. Well, at least that part really happened. And the cut... Lucius touched his cheek—it was still painful. So the chandelier must have fallen. Or did he cut himself somewhere else?

Lucius snapped his fingers to summon the house-elves. They didn't respond. Lucius remembered that he hadn't summoned them for a long while. The house-elves did everything he needed without being asked. They brought food—it's been a while since Lucius gave any thought to the menu. He wondered, thought, where they got the wine and Firewhiskey, considering the empty cellar?

Lucius snapped his fingers again impatiently, and went up to the dining room without waiting for a response. The table was set for three. Two of the plates were empty, but someone had clearly eaten from them just recently. There were traces of red wine residue in the glasses. The third plate was covered with a lid. Lucius lifted it—pieces of meat in a red sauce. Suddenly he didn't feel like eating any longer.

He grabbed a wine bottle from the table and moved on to the bedroom.

The house looked especially menacing in the light from his wand. Portraits of his ancestors grinned at him from the walls; they seemed to be laughing at him. He kept imagining weird creatures skulking in the corners. Lucius had always liked his house, but now it terrified him.

Maybe he should listen to Draco and leave? Take a vacation? No. If he was going insane, going away would not help, but would just make things worse. At least he was alone here, but if he started flinging himself at other people, he would never be able to avoid a locked ward on the lunatic floor in St. Mungo's.

Lucius opened the bedroom door, looked around, came in, and sat down on the bed. He lit a candle with a wave of his wand. Severus had often stayed in this room. He would come over for a few days without any things, brew potions all day, read, and then usually go to bed very early. Lucius wondered: did the Dark Lord keep him company in bed?

Lucius smirked, opened the bottle and drank a few mouthfuls. The wine had a bitter aftertaste, just like the Firewhiskey. Wherever it was that they were getting it, the house-elves needed to change their supplier. Lucius took a few more sips and lay down without undressing. Sleep would not come to him.

His thoughts were tangled. He remembered first Severus, then the Dark Lord, and then Dumbledore, for some reason. He thought about himself for a bit. Was there a moment when he could have acted differently? Where was that point at which he could have turned his life around and changed it? Not follow the Dark Lord, not take part in the war, not think about such nonsense as muggles, muggle-borns and muggle-lovers... He kept remembering Sirius, with his unruly mane of black hair, his shining eyes, his beautiful lips closing around a cigarette in the most indecent way possible...

Lucius sat up and drank a few more gulps. He wondered if he could drink enough to not only see Black, but touch him as well. Not that he actually wanted to, he just wanted to know. He drank some more, then went to the window and opened it wide. The air smelled of wet leaves and some kind of flower. And also of Black's cigarettes.

“I warned you about the drinking, didn't I.” Black appeared on the windowsill.

His bare knee was almost touching Lucius's elbow. Instead of the usual Azkaban clothing he was wearing a tee-shirt and shorts.

“Sirius Black is worried about the well-being of Lucius Malfoy. Imagine that!”

“Yes, I'm surprised at myself.”

Lucius lifted the bottle, but Sirius snatched it away and with a light movement tossed it out the window.

“Go to sleep, Malfoy. I'll keep watch.”

Somehow he couldn't muster the strength to argue. Lucius curled up on top of the bed covers and closed his eyes. He felt the bed dip when Black sat down at his feet, and fell asleep almost instantaneously.

~-~-~

When he woke up, Snape and the Dark Lord were lying in bed next to him, snogging. Lucius sprang up and rushed to the door, but it turned out to be locked again. He whirled around—now the Dark Lord and Snape were staring at him. Their faces looked almost alike this way, as if they were brothers. Lucius was racked by a shudder. He yanked on the door one more time, and then ran over to the window, which was still open.

The Lord and Severus turned their heads, watching him, then started to rise.

The hallucinations seemed particularly solid today. Lucius tried to convince himself that nothing would happen to him, that this was merely his own mind playing tricks. Gripping the windowsill to prevent himself from falling, he watched the Dark Lord approach him and lift a hand to touch his cheek.

It was a touch. He felt it for real, and unable to stand any more, jumped out the window. Luckily he was able to slow his descent with magic. Lucius fell onto wet grass, lay there for some time gathering his thoughts, then got up. He was lucky—he hadn't broken anything. The bedroom window closed with a loud bang. Limping, Lucius made his way to the gazebo, where breakfast was already laid out for him. As if the house-elves knew in advance that he would be eating his breakfast in no other place. A conspiracy? They were mocking him!

He didn't touch the food, just drank another portion of wine from the bottle. And another mouthful, and another, just a little sip. There was a buzzing in his head. All he had to do was wait for the horrible pair to join him at the table. Lucius didn't have a clear concept of the limits of house-elf magic—were the little creatures capable of such a perverse prank? He couldn't believe it.

In a fit of rage, Lucius swept all the food and dishes off the table and clutched head in his hands.

He didn't know what to do. It was getting worse every day. At this point he was sure he needed to be checked into St. Mungo's, but he had no faith in the healers. They'd lock him away in a padded cell, and where's the guarantee that he wouldn't have the same Dark Lord and Snape for company? Except in the hospital there would be no place to run. Lucius laughed bitterly. No... no. Anything but St. Mungo's.

“Father?” Draco arrived so silently that Lucius didn't notice him. “What's wrong with you?” He looked down at the scattered food. “What happened?”

“Everything is fine.”

He could hardly have said anything stupider.

“How can this be fine? Dad, let's go inside.”

Draco stretched a hand out to him, and Lucius barely restrained himself from shrinking away, forced himself to accept it and allow himself to be led into the house. The Dark Lord and Snape were there, but Draco once again took no notice of them. He led him to his bedroom. The bedroom in which Lucius hadn't slept now for... he could not remember for how long.

He obediently took off his dirty top robe and wet shoes, and lay down in bed.

“I'll call a doctor,” said Draco.

The Dark Lord and Severus both sneered at the same time. Lucius tried to stop him:

“You shouldn't.”

“Don't even start arguing with me.” It was pointless. “Lie still. Everything will be okay, I'll take care of you... What are you looking at?”

Lucius was watching the smiles on the ghostly pair grow wider and wider. He shuddered.

“Okay, that's it, I'll be right back.” Draco ran out of the room.

The Dark Lord and Snape advanced on him. The room filled with a distinct smell of blood.

~-~-~

Suddenly a wave of icy calm swept through Lucius. He still had his wand with him. He had no intention of falling into the hands of the healers, never to escape them again. It was better to... He placed the tip of his wand against his heart. His hand shook.

The Dark Lord smiled happily, but Severus... It seemed that the thought of what Lucius was about to do did not make him happy. Well, he wasn't too happy about it himself. He didn't want to... But he was so tired now, and he was ready. In a moment...

“Are you mental?” Black stood next to him.

“Yes, that's exactly what I am.”

Black stared at him with contempt, then sighed.

“Pathetic, I don't even want to feel bad for you, but... Come with me.”

“Where?”

“You'll see.”

Severus and the Dark Lord have always tried to keep as far away from Black as possible, so Lucius had no trouble getting up now. He followed after Black, as he was, in his bare feet. Black turned into a dog and ran briskly, first down the hallway, then further, down to the ground floor, then the basement.

Lucius ran after him. He could barely catch his breath, and almost broke his own neck as he rushed down the uneven steps. The passage was too tight, and he didn't even have time to cast a Lumos—he was too afraid of loosing Black. He followed him to the dungeons. With every step he appeared more and more solid, but as he ran through the door, he dissipated.

Lucius hurried inside. Draco was leaning over some strange object against the far wall. Lucius was about to call out to him, but stopped when he saw him straighten up, pull something out of his pocket, and raise it to his ear.

“Weasley? Listen, I can't make heads or tails out of this thing. How do you turn it off? If the medics see these fine fellows, they won't take Father away—they'll call the Aurors.”

Lucius had to lean against a wall to stop himself from falling. His heart was beating so hard he was surprised that Draco couldn't hear it.

“Yes, I took the bottles away from the house-elves and ordered them to keep quiet. It's lucky that they listen to me more than to Father. I'm turning off this bloody machine and calling the healers, and Father can finally leave this house. Forever, I hope. Anyway, you went overboard when you adjusted it yesterday. You should have seen him...”

Lucius could not hear what the man on the other end was telling Draco, but he groped for his wand. He heard a rustling sound from the stairwell—the inseparable pair was here.

“So I just take out the Resurrection Stone. Fine. Got it.”

Draco put the mirror, or maybe even mobile phone, back into his pocket, and leaned over the device again. Something clicked. The Dark Lord and Severus winked out. Lucius grasped his wand more comfortably.

Never, not in his worst nightmares, had he ever imagined that he might have to fight against his own son. To fight in peacetime, when everything bad was seemingly over. He felt his throat tighten.

Draco put something in his pocket, waved his wand in a Disillusionment charm, and the device disappeared. He turned, put away his wand, and then saw Lucius.

“Expelliarmus! Silencio! Incarcerous!”

Lucius beat him to it.

~-~-~

Lucius picked up his son's wand and went through his pockets, where he found a mobile phone and a pouch made of soft velvet, with a small black stone inside it. Lucius decided that this must be it. He lifted the Disillusionment charm from the wall and destroyed the device with satisfaction. He hoped that it was the only one of its kind in existence. Pulling his son along with a Mobilicorpus, he headed upstairs, into his study, summoning his shoes from the bedroom as we went.

Draco looked bewildered, sullen, and extremely angry. His cheeks were burning, his forehead was damp with sweat. He was squinting his eyes and twisting his lips, but couldn't make a sound past the Silencio, which made him even more enraged. Lucius pushed him down into a chair, sat down in his own seat, and sighed. He threw Draco's wand down on the table. He wanted to close his eyes and not see any of this, not feel anything, not even think. Nor did he want to start this conversation. He would have given anything for this not to have happened, but for that he would have had to go far back, practically to the very beginning of his own life.

“Tell me.”

Lucius raised his wand and removed the enchantments.

“I won't.”

He should have expected no less. Draco rubbed the circulation back into his hands.

“Then I'll tell you. You have no job, you and Weasley are renting a flat in London. You're feeding yourself god knows what, you have no way to get money. Your mother helped you, of course, but her own finances are not that good. Am I right?”

Draco was silent.

“Let's go on, then. You know approximately what resources are required to maintain the Manor, and you have a vague idea how much money I have left after all those enforced charitable donations for the benefit of... for the benefit of _everything_. So you decided it was an excellent idea to sell the old family manor, which was saturated with the reek of dust and blood anyhow, and to live happily ever after in joy and prosperity. There was only one problem: your father, who survived the war for some unknown reason, and even had the nerve to stay out of prison!” Lucius could tell from his own voice that he was getting carried away.

He felt bitter and disgusted down to his very soul. He never expected something like this from Draco. It was all Weasley. It must have been Weasley. If there was ever a problem, there was always a Weasley behind it!

“It was not like that.”

“Allow me to disbelieve you. You decided—why not drive your dear father insane? And after all, what a great idea! You'd be hard put to find any flaw in it. Alone, vanquished, ruined, and divorced—well, who would be surprised if a wizard who had fallen so far in society went insane? You just have to give him a little nudge. There is only one thing I want to know: where did you get that artifact and that gadget?”

“I didn't want you to go insane. I didn't! I didn't know it would get this far. I just wanted to show you that after the Dark Lord lived here, this house was dangerous. And you're better off getting rid of it.”

“I don't believe that. You know perfectly well that even if I was forced to leave, I would have maintained control of the Manor.”

“I knew no such thing. Even without that bloody stone, I could see how awful this place was for you, Father. I thought that if you moved out, you could get back together with Mother and be happy. But not here. This house is dead, and you were dying with it.”

“Stop lying!” Lucius hit the table with the palm of his hand.

“You never believe me!”

“Just listen to yourself! You haven't seen _everything_ that was happening here in that year—and thank Merlin for that!—but how could you even consider that your mother could continue living with me, after everything that she and you were put through? I don't believe that I raised such an idiot! Even a petty crook is better.”

“You mean... You feel better believing that I was trying to drive you mad and rob you, rather than that I was trying to do something good?”

Draco sprang up.

“Draco, 'something good' cannot be done in such a perverted way. I could have... I tried...” No, Lucius could not tell his son that he'd tried to take his own life. “I'm looking at the methods you were using and judging based on that. Or were you manipulated into it? Was it Weasley? That family never had enough money, so I wouldn't be surprised. And of course, his hatred of me is entirely understandable and expected.”

“Yes, Ron dislikes you, but that doesn't mean he wants you dead.”

“Dead—maybe not. But in a closed ward in St. Mungo's? Definitely. That would be revenge right in their style.”

“Father, what revenge? I came up with everything myself, when I found out about the Stone and the device that George invented. He found the Stone. He wanted to bring his brother back, but Ron convinced him to stop. Then we tweaked it a bit...”

“Ron and George,” Lucius practically spat those names. “Excellent, that means that at least two Weasleys were involved in this. One of them invented the little hellish machine based on a legendary artifact, and the other—an Auror, what a lucky coincidence—laid traps for me and covered his tracks. And where there are two Weasleys, their whole vile brood is not far behind.”

Something like a mixture of disgust and pity flickered over Draco's face. Lucius barely restrained himself from jinxing him.

“From what I understand, it was you who ordered the house-elves to give me some kind of swill. Will you tell me what you were poisoning me with?”

“It's not poison. It's a potion based on medicine for the mentally ill. I found that it helps the device affect the brain at a distance. It makes the visions more life-like.”

“Too life-like.”

“I never tried it at that concentration. I didn't realize that you drank that much.”

“Are you implying that this is all my fault?”

“You can decide that for yourself.” Draco lowered his gaze.

“And who did you summon, when you were running your experiments?”

“What difference does it make? I made sure that it works, that's all... George insisted that everything would be under complete control. The 'actors', as he called the apparitions, would only scare and confuse. After all, they're not ghosts, they're more like memories.”

“And what about Sirius Black?”

“I thought he was a real ghost. Just started haunting this place...”

“You mean you saw him, he wasn't part of your game?”

“No.” Draco looked up.

“Well, there is some good news—you turned out to be a decent potions master. Enough. Get out. I'm keeping the Stone. You needed money? Here.” Lucius threw him a thick checkbook from a muggle bank. It was far from his only one, but Draco did not need to know that.

“I'm sorry...” Draco touched the checkbook tentatively.

“Out!”

Draco jerked his hand back, grabbed his wand, and scrambled out the door.

Lucius thought that he saw tears glistening on his cheeks. The checkbook was left lying on the table where it fell, which is what he expected. Though it didn't make him the least bit happy.

Lucius fell into a chair and closed his eyes. There was a slight prickling behind his breastbone, but it didn't scare him. What scared him was thinking about Draco, about why he acted the way he did. Lucius didn't want—wasn't ready—to think about that now. First he had to deal with those who no longer belonged to the world of the living.

~-~-~

Lucius stared at the velvet pouch containing the legendary Stone, and struggled with himself for some time. The right thing to do would be to take it away and seal in in a vault, preferably in Gringott's, or bury it somewhere in the middle of a large park, so that no one would ever be able to use the Stone again. But Lucius gave in, took it out of the bag and squeezed it in his fist. He wanted to see him one last time, thank him and say goodbye, this time forever. For a moment sorrow gripped his heart, but then the vise loosened—Sirius appeared, sitting in the same chair where Draco sat just a minute ago. Now that Lucius's mind wasn't drugged, he could see how incorporeal he really was. Two familiar figures materialized behind him—the Dark Lord and Severus; Dobby stood stiffly by the door, and he could see other transparent figures further on. Lucius decided not to examine them too closely. Were they ancestors? Old enemies? Friends? It wasn't important.

“And you said that you had no intention of meddling in the business of the living,” Lucius said.

“Considering what you were about to do, it was more like the business of the dead, so it doesn't count, Malfoy. Why did you call me?”

“I wanted to say thank you.”

For some reason he was unbelievably pleased to see Sirius Black.

“You're welcome. And why did you drag them in?” He tilted his head at the figures behind him.

“They came on their own. You think I know how to control it?”

“I don't know, I've never used that thing. But it's pretty powerful...yeah.”

“Draco said that you were not part of their plan.”

“No kidding!” Sirius smirked victoriously. “I just took advantage of the occasion. I miss this world sometimes, so I looked in, out of curiosity, and got stuck. You kept me here.”

“So you decided to help.”

“Not really, no... By the way, I've been wanting to tell you for a long time, Malfoy—you've raised a real git! Almost as bad as yourself.”

“I wouldn't place all the blame on Draco, since the Weasleys were involved in the business as well.”

“Yes, they're all of them fine blokes...”

Lucius looked away. Severus and the Dark Lord seemed much less alive than Black, as usual. They were silent, and their bodies billowed slightly from some intangible wind.

“Do you think there really was something between the two of them?” Lucius asked, nodding at the pair.

“I wouldn't be surprised.” Sirius smirked, but there was sorrow. “So why did you call me?”

“To say thank you—if it wasn't for... And why on earth did you decide to help me, anyway?”

“My sense of justice. At some point your son and his friend really went too far, and I couldn't just stand on the sidelines. I didn't want to ruin such a fun game, but...”

“Is there anything I can do for you? Maybe give the stone to Potter?”

“Oh, no, no. God forbid! No one should be calling people from the other world into this one. The dead should be left alone, so they can't spoil the lives of the living.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely. Destroy it. If there is any way you can thank me, this would be it.”

He didn't want to part with a valuable artifact, but Lucius nodded.

“Very well. I promise.”

“Hard to believe the words of a Malfoy, but I'll try.” The sorrow in Sirius's eyes seemed to increase.

“Then this is goodbye.”

“Yes.”

Sirius continued to just sit there, while the figures behind him became even more transparent. Now one could only guess as to their identity.

“What do you think, if you'd lived, would it have worked out between us?” Lucius asked, not really expecting any answer.

“Of course not! So don't even think about it.”

Sirius sprang up and leaned towards him. The touch of the ghostly lips was almost weightless. When Lucius dropped the Stone, he realized that was left alone in the room. His heart was beating loudly, impatiently.

~-~-~

The idea seemed insane and slightly deranged. While Lucius sometimes stopped by the Ministry to sort out matters of a legal or financial nature, he hadn't the slightest chance of getting into the Department of Mysteries. The Unspeakables hated him. Lucius could feel their dislike with his very skin, when their silent, dour figures walked past him.

He made a mental list of all the valuables in his house, hoping something might interest the Unspeakables, but could not find anything fitting. The only thing that might interest them was the very thing that he could not give away. An illegal intrusion was a senseless risk. There was no way to take down the security charms without a spy on the inside, and after the Victory he had no acquaintances left among the Unspeakables.

Lucius thought about it day and night—how to get into the Department of Mysteries, into the Death Chamber, and take a peek into that damned Archway. Sirius had asked him to let go. And Lucius _did_ let him go, a long time ago, he just wanted to fulfill his promise—to get rid of the Resurrection Stone once and for all. It was nothing more than that, he told himself, and he even almost believed it.

Almost two months passed since the last time Lucius had touched the Stone. And every day the temptation to turn to it grew stronger. He could summon Sirius again, although he didn't really know to what purpose, or ask his father for advice, or call Severus and ask him about his real relationship with the Dark Lord. Because his visions could not have been random, could they?

The unanswered questions still demanded answers, but Lucius held off for now. He often took the bag with the Stone out of the safe, stared at it for a long time, then put it back. The artifact had cost him too dearly, and he didn't want to go insane for real, and end up like the middle brother in the fairy tale. And yet... there was that moment when he had been really close to doing just that. And if it wasn't for Black... Just the thought of Black made him want to get drunk as a skunk, but after everything that happened, Lucius would not even allow himself the traditional glass of wine.

One day he stopped by the Ministry to exchange a couple of words with an acquaintance in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. On his way out, he ran into Draco in the lift. He was dressed in the tightly buttoned robes which were firmly associated with the Unspeakables, and Lucius couldn't resist congratulating his son on his new position. It must have come out excessively caustic, because Draco started and quickly walked past, as if he hadn't noticed him.

Lucius hadn't expected that he would catch up with him by the fireplaces.

“I just wanted to know how you're doing,” he answered when Lucius asked him what he wanted.

“Fine, to your eternal sorrow.” Lucius realized that he was still angry with his son.

“Don't...”

“I see that your Weasley is taking care of you. Found you a cushy little job.”

“And you don't believe that I could have become an Unspeakable on my own? You still think I have no talent?”

“I never thought you had no talent, but considering how your colleagues recoil at the sight of me, I'm surprised that anyone with the name of Malfoy was even admitted in there. Or did you give them something from my house?”

“Not too long ago it was my house, too!”

_And it remains yours_ , Lucius thought, but he was still not ready for a reconciliation, so he didn't say it out loud.

“So I'm right? You pilfered something from the Manor?”

Draco's ears were turning a color very close to purple.

“No! I'm working with the mind...”

“Oh, yes, you have extensive experience with that!”

“Father, please, don't. If you saw what I'm working on, you would understand.”

Lucius latched on to this suggestion like a drowning man to a straw.

“So show me.”

“I'm not sure that...” he backtracked immediately.

“Then there is nothing for us to talk about.”

But it seemed that Draco's desire to make up, to earn his forgiveness, or maybe simply to brag about his accomplishments, was stronger than the Unspeakables' distaste. Two weeks had not passed before Draco took him into the Department of Mysteries. Lucius still remembered it well. He stood for a while, watching the brains swim in their giant tanks, glanced into the Time Room.

“Take me to the Death Chamber,” he asked when he felt that Draco had finally let down his guard.

“So that's what you're really here for,” sneered Draco. “What do think you'll find there?”

“Memories.”

The Archway looked just as majestic and frightening. Lucius asked Draco to wait at the top of the amphitheater, assuring him that he had no intention of throwing himself into the Archway, and went down to the pedestal. Gradually—first just on the edge of his hearing, then ever louder—the whispers started. He could not make out the words. The whispering voices were hard to recognize or tell apart. Sometimes he heard his father's words, sometimes Bellatrix's mad laughter, sometimes the Dark Lord's quiet hissing, sometimes Severus's grumbling... and somewhere still very far away, the barking of a dog.

Lucius took the velvet bag out of an inner pocket and weighed it in his hand. He didn't dare take the Stone out in the heart of the Department of Mysteries, so he threw it into the veil just as it was. The bag with the priceless artifact sank into the gray haze.

The veil billowed out, as if a gust of wind from inside the Archway blew through it. The little whispers were quiet for a moment, then started up again. He could still hear the dog barking, and it seemed to be getting louder.

Draco called out to Lucius, but he didn't turn around. He just stood there, listening to the voices of death, as if he was hoping for something. Maybe he was just imagining it, but the barking seemed to be coming nearer. Lucius stared all the harder at the rippling veil and waited. If it worked, he would forgive his son everything. Even Weasley.


End file.
